You’re at a restaurant for dinner and order salmon, with lemon butter sauce on the side, and lightly steamed vegetables. The waiter brings you a plate of roast beef and mashed potatoes, slathered with gravy,. A few limp string beans peek out from under the white and brown mush.
You say, “This isn’t what I ordered.
The waiter says, “You wanted the salmon.”
“That’s right, with lemon butter on the side, vegetables lightly steamed.”
“And that’s what you got.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Are you crazy? You gave me meat.”
“Where? Where do you see meat?’
“On the plate,” you point. “There.”
“That’s not meat. It’s fish.”
“What? Get the manager.”
The waiter shrugs and leaves. A few minutes later, he comes back with the manager.
She says, “Is something wrong?”
“Yes,” you say. “I ordered salmon, sauce on the side, with lightly steamed vegetables, and your waiter brought me this.”
The manager looks at the waiter, then at you. “So what’s the problem?”
You growl, “This isn’t salmon.”
“Yes it is.”
“Smell it,” you lift the plate, “and tell me if it smells like salmon.”
The manager leans over. Sniffs. “Seems fishy to me.”
The manager sighs, “how about if we bring you something else?”
“Fine.” You think for a minute. Then, suddenly, feeling very clever, you say, “Bring me the roast beef.”
“With mashed potatoes and gravy?”
“Yes. And string beans, well done.”
“Very good.” The manager smiles, and both she and the waiter disappear.
Twenty minutes go by. A good sign, you think. They’re making your meal to order. You’re staring to feel better…
…until the waiter reappears, proclaiming, “Beef!!” and sets the saddest, slimiest salad you have ever seen in front of you.
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